Epitome of Awesome
by inigo1220
Summary: Human AU. "You are more than your experiences; you are your choices." As a teen, Gilbert always kind of expected life to happen for him, saw it as a monotony that he had to break with his rebellion. As an adult, he's beginning to understand the advice his grandfather gave him. PruCan, fem!Sufin, GerIta, Spain/fem!S.Italy, FrancexJeanne of Arc and lots of other characters.
1. Prologue

**The Epitome of Awesome**

**Prologue**

* * *

For some time, there was nothing but the sound of a heart beat. Beep. Or, rather, the sound of a machine counting down a man's final moments. Beep. It was late. Late enough for the large window at the end of the room proudly let the sunset be chopped into tiny pieces by its white blinds. Beep. The room was a normal hospital room: large enough but certainly not worth bragging about; everything clean; a television attached to another wall that faced the beds—beep—and the stench of... hospital lingering in the air. Only one of its beds was occupied. Beep. The old man in the bed seemed ready to die. His expression seemed rather peaceful, though determined and still stern. Everything about him seemed serious and stern: knowing blue eyes, sharp facial features, slightly furrowed eyebrows. Beep. His long blond hair rested beneath his skull and was so long that it managed to creep underneath his blanket as well. Beep.

He was not alone in the room.

A teen and a young man watched him. Both stood near the bed, though it seemed that their thoughts were in completely different lands. Beep. The young teen seemed to be about fourteen or fifteen years old, the baby fat on his cheeks betraying his otherwise fierce expression. He looked much like the old man on the bed: blond hair, blue eyes, and a thick build. Beep. He looked as though he had come from school. His messenger bag was still slung across his shoulder, and he still wore a button-shirt and neatly-pressed khaki pants. Beep. The boy stared from the window-sill at his grandfather, his teeth chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. His knees are bent, as though he wishes to walk over to his guardian—or perhaps run from the room, from the nightmare that this has become. Beep. The older man did not seem to be faring as badly. He stared to at his grandfather, his red eyes almost drinking in the scene as they searched for answers to all the questions in the world, all the questions that the man on the bed would not be able to answer. Beep. His thin, pale arms were crossed. He leaned against the wall near the bed, away from his younger brother. Beep. He was dressed in casual street clothes: an opened red and black patterned button-up shirt with a white under-shirt and black skinny jeans. A hoodie hung from his crossed arms. Beep.

The old man adjusted himself a bit, and Ludwig's legs twitched as though he wanted to come over to help. But his grandfather raised a hand, stopping him. The young boy hung his head slightly and settled back into his former position at the windowsill. Beep. The old man ran his hand along the side of the bed, then pushed down on a button. The front of the bed raised itself up. Beep. The old man spoke, "I am going to tell you a story.

"It is sad. It is bitter. It is sweet. It is my greatest regret. And it all has to do with a man that you met, that you hate or loved or perhaps cared not for. But he was the love of my life, even if that, at your young age makes no sense or seems too sentimental." Beep. The silver-haired man looked confusedly at his grandfather, red eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. His crossed arms tightened. The air swirled with confusion and angst. Beep.

The young teen merely nodded slightly, his blue eyes wide as though trying to memorise every sound, movement, and smell. The old man continued, his eyes closing. Beep. "I did not love him immediately. In fact, I was loath to have met him, the first time. He was my opposite. Loud, funny, charming, garrulous in the extreme. Handsome as well. It took me a while to learn, but... above all, he was kind." Beep. "He was in the same situation as I. His daughter had died a few months prior. Her husband had left her after the second child had been born and could not be located." Beep. "But she had had two children with the man, one boy and one girl. My love took in the two, treated them as his own. I met him at the library where we used read, do you remember, Ludwig?" Beep. The old man opened his eyes. "You used to help the boy read because he had a lot of trouble sitting still. Although, you thought he was a girl because the boy liked wearing dresses." The teen frowned and shook his head slightly in response. Beep. The silver-haired man looked up at the white ceiling of the hospital. This he remembered, though he had not been there himself.

"We met every other day at that library. And, one night, when my love said that he had business, but had no one to take care of the two children, I offered with no hesitation to take them for the evening." Beep. "I think, I think it was then that I knew that I would do anything for him. And, soon, I discovered that he felt the same way. And together we helped each other heal." Beep. "But we did not know. We did not know how we could possibly handle ourselves around you four. You all never met the girl, just the boy – yes, Gilbert, that brunette boy that loved pasta and refused to eat anything I made." Beep. Gilbert smiled slightly. He remembered that, though he couldn't remember exactly what the boy looked like. Just that weird little curl... "One could not get married back then, not between two men. And what could we say to your teachers, who were likely to disapprove and perhaps treat you differently? What would the world say?" Beep. "The world looked down upon us. So, we hid. We waited. We expected that time would come to us and let us live." Beep. The old man snorted slightly with a patient smile, as though smiling at his own foolishness.

"He died the next year, and I could not be there with him. He had been sick for a long time." Beep. "I hadn't even known." The old man paused and closed his eyes for a second. Ludwig made a small sound, as though he wanted to tell him that it was okay. That he didn't need to continue. Gilbert spared his brother a sympathetic glance. Poor Ludwig. He had only been five. It was unlikely that he remembered. Ironically, it was Gilbert who did not want to remember, but did. Beep. The albino's eyes returned to his grandfather as the old man spoke again, "I went to the hospital to go visit, bringing along a new book on the Roman Empire for him to read—he loved history, you know—" Beep. "But when I went to the nurses' station to sign-in, the nurse told me that he died that night." Beep.

"I was not allowed to take in the children. They were separated, but I could never locate them." The pace of his speech quickened, and Gilbert lowered his eyes. He remembered this part. He remembered it all too well. Especially the parts that he had made so much worse. Beep. "I was distraught. I had lost him. I had lost them. I had lost that small sphere of happiness that I had managed to create, and don't misunderstand me." Beep. "I loved and love you both as well. But when we were together, we felt like a family. Him and me, helping each other raise you all..." Beep. Alexander finally looked at Gilbert. The now young adult looked back, eyes infinitely sad. Beep.

Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep.

"I know why you are so sad, Gilbert," Alexander said finally. "You're right, too. That is why I am telling you this. I know you remember a lot of it." Beep. "However, all of that leads to something else that I'd like to say."

Unable to help himself and feeling overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions that he could not run from, Ludwig moved from his position on the windowsill, moving closer to his grandfather and taking the old man's thin and frail hand. Beep. The teenager's mouth was nearly trembling. Trembling with all the words he wanted to say. His eyes filling with tears that he would never shed. Gilbert stayed where he was, unsure if he still hated his grandfather for this, or if he understood that he would rather say goodbye now than never say it. Or perhaps even that he now understood. Beep.

Alexander gave Ludwig a weak smile, then flashed Gilbert an understanding look. "In your life, you will find yourself chasing your past." Beep. "When you walk alone down shopping aisles, in the park, on your way to school or work, you find yourself reliving memories, wondering why you didn't act differently, or what you could have said instead." Beep. "Your past will give you something to avenge, something to work for, something to love. Your past will give you meaning." Beep.

"And, yet, be wary of it. Don't let your past impulse you into acting." Beep. "Because you are more than who you were. You are more than your experiences; you are your choices." Beep.

Gilbert walked forward to the side opposite of where Ludwig stood. The man's red eyes were guarded. He placed his hand onto his grandfather's. "You should sleep now, _Opa_." The words were smooth. Beep. And full of emotion. The Prussian rubbed his fingers against the skin of his grandfather's hand, making sure not to touch the IV cord. Beep.

Alexander smiled at him. Then looked to Ludwig. "You will make sure he doesn't burn Paris to the ground, won't you?" Beep. Ludwig made another small sound between a happy and nervous laugh, smiled in a pained way, and glanced at his beloved older brother—who was rolling his eyes. The German teen nodded at his grandfather's request, with tears filling his eyes. The old man looked at him for a bit more. He wished Ludwig was a child again. He wished he were strong enough to wipe away his tears one last time.

Unable to respond to the teen, he shifted his gaze to Gilbert, blue meeting red in absolute—beep—and broken silence. They stared at each other, Alexander's blue eyes repeating the same words from every outing, every school year morning, every moment that Ludwig and Gilbert had spent alone. Beep. _Take care of him. Protect him. Make sure that he is always okay. That is your responsibility as his older brother._ The two looked at each other until Gilbert, too, finally felt the emotional strain. The Prussian bowed his head slightly, his eyes never leaving his grandfather's. The old man finally broke eye contact, looking up at the light on the ceiling. "Don't expect me to wake up," the old man murmured, closing his eyes. Beep.

The two brothers stayed like that for a short while until Gilbert removed his hand and took a step back. Beep. Outside, the sky was now dark and star-less. The moon was nowhere to be seen, but the lights from the buildings shown into the room, dousing everything with an orange hue. The Prussian walked over to the window and fully closed the blinds. Alexander hated sleeping when any light was on. Beep. He walked back to his brother and put a hand on the teen's shoulder. "Come on, Lud," he said softly. "You've got school tomorrow. You'll need to get some sleep." Beep. The words were gentle, a quality that often escaped Gilbert. Ludwig tore his stare from his grandfather, but did not remove his hand. The boy gave his brother a pleading look, but Gilbert shook his head, his red eyes full of sympathy. Beep. Ludwig gave one last look at his grandfather then removed his hand.

"O...kay," the boy trembled. Gilbert grabbed his hand and held it. Beep.

"It's gonna be okay," Gilbert whispered. Beep. The boy nodded, wiping away the tears that were coming to his eyes. "Have you got all your things?" Ludwig nodded. Beep. His lip was being held by his front teeth. "It's gonna be okay," Gilbert repeated. "Let's go." The Prussian continued to hold his brother's hand as they exited the room, not daring to glance once more at their guardian lest their resolve break.

The beeping continued as the two made their way down the hallway. And as they said their goodbyes to the nurse

the beeping stopped, replaced by the sound of the heater coming on for the night and the footsteps of the nurse who was coming down the hallway for a check-in.


	2. Chapter 1: Coffee Cups of Tea

**Epitome of Awesome**

**Chapter 1: Coffee Cups of Tea**

_Six years later..._

A quiet mornings was not something Matthew was accustomed to. In some ways, he was glad for the change. The quiet reminded him of Canada. Of the silent forests and roaring waterfalls. Of fluffy snow that rained down from the sky. Of camping out beneath the stars and creating constellations.

But those were stories of solitude. And he was no longer in solitude.

Literally, he was. The other side of the bed was cold and empty, and only one pair of shoes lay at the side of the bed. Still, clothes other than his own hung in the closet, and the sheets on the other side of the bed were ruffled. The Canadian smiled slightly as he sat up, stretching his arms out. He shivered slightly as his feet hit the cool hardwood floor. He hobbled to his shoes, gently cursing the draft of wintry French air... Tea for breakfast sounded like a good idea...

His shoes on, Matthew walked to the kitchen and pulled a mug from the cupboard. Earl grey or green or the Kusmi tea Francis had bought him? Or rooibos? Hm...

He needed to stop buying so many types of tea. It only made decided which type all the more difficult. To tired to scowl, he merely took the kettle off the stove and filled it with water from the sink, then put it on the stove, and turned the stove on. The fire sprang to life, blue. He held his hands near it, smiling slightly as he felt them warm, reminding him of those nights spent camping out with his brother, roasting marsh-mellows on dancing flames with the smell of pine surrounding them. He could smell it even now. He could even picture those Great Lakes that Alfred loved so much.

___Why? _Matthew had asked once after Alfred whined enough to have the two of them sitting as close as possible to the lakes as the sunset. They had stayed there for hours after til both of them could no longer feel their legs. ___They're American. They're awesome! _Alfred had quickly explained with one of his almost too cheery grins. Oh, Alfred. Matthew smiled at the thought of his energetic brother as he inni-minni-mine-y-mode the tea bags.

Earl grey.

Matthew shrugged slightly at his pick. Some type of tea certainly wasn't just tea to him, but it would do for today since his primary concern was feeling warmer. Tea type picked, he leaned against the counter, looking, funnily enough, at the refrigerator where a picture of he and Alfred had been placed. Matthew walked over to it, studying it with a small smile. It was from when Matthew had come back from Paris and met up with his brother in New York. The two wore matching red sweaters, and Alfred had grinned at the camera, holding two fingers in a deuces style while Matthew smiled half-sheepishly, half-happily at the camera. When the picture was taken, they hadn't seen each other for almost a year. It was interesting to say the least that he and Alfred looked so alike. They easily could have passed for twins, what with their similar blue eyes (Matthew's were slightly darker), blond hair (Alfred's was shorter and darker), and slight build (though Alfred was certainly the bulkier of the two). Of course, those were just differences that Matthew and Alfred noticed because they spent so much time together. In reality, even their parents had trouble distinguishing between the two – especially when they'd first met Matthew at the orphanage and accidentally confused him for their biological son.

The kettle whistled and he poured the boiling water into his mug. He dumped it into the tea. He stared into the cup watching the flavour create beautiful swirls, not unlike those of smoke on a breezy night. A small chinking sound was heard as he pulled the drawer open and took out a spoon. He reached for the jar the sugar, dragging it across the counter for a second before opening it up and taking a spoonful. He didn't like much more than a spoonful of sugar in his tea though he certainly was not like Hannah who drank tea without adding anything more than a bit of milk. He stirred in sugar absent-mindedly, still staring into the cup and the smoky swirls. He'd gotten this mug in Paris. Or, rather, Gilbert had given it to him.

His first gift...

___It was his second year of college, but he was already tired of the United States. He regretted caving into his father and his brother's desire for him to go to an American university, but did not want to disappoint them by dropping out— so he took the first opportunity possible to get out. Thankfully, it came in the form of a year in Paris; a year that he took gratefully. French was not his native language, but he had studied it extensively, ____hoping to move back to Quebec. But Paris, of course, was great, too._

___He had been sitting at a small table outside a Starbucks, near the touristy area. He had been searching for a quiet morning that day. His dorm mates had been fighting the night before, and he was sick of them. Besides, tea always made him feel better... but it was his first week there and he just didn't feel comfortable walking around like a Parisian yet. Not to mention that the rapid French spoken by said Parisians confused him to no end. So there he was, minding his own business, drinking slowly at his tea, trying to just take "Paris" in._

___When a strange-looking, strikingly white-haired man with red-eyes sat opposite of him. "Guten Morgen," the man said with a wink. Matthew stared, confused."Okay, look, I know this is weird, but I need you to do me a favour," the man said hurriedly. "It's nothing too big. Just pretend we're talking—"_

___"We are," Matthew interrupted suddenly._

___The man grinned at him, leaning towards him, hands cupped together. "I like you. Anyway, I'm Gilbert. I'm Prussian, and I'm currently hiding from a French fellow named Francis and Spanish _compadre___named Antonio. But if they see me with you, they won't interrupt."_

___Matthew raised an eyebrow, intrigued._

___The Prussian's grin grew even wider as he leaned back. "Well, let's just say I took a... practical joke a little too far, and now they're hunting me down." His red eyes shined mischievously and slight, strange chuckle escaped his lips._

___Matthew's stomach was quaking with nervousness. What should he do?! This man didn't seem like a bad guy... a little weird, but he didn't seem like he wanted to hurt Matthew. _Merde.___Where was Alfred when he actually needed him? "And I should believe you because?" Matthew asked tightly, a surge of courage tinting his word with anger._

___But the man was unaffected. "They won't interrupt me while I'm flirting." He winked._

___Matthew blinked, colour rising to his face. "Oh." The Canadian suddenly felt quite small. He stared down at his hands, eyes barely darting to look at the Prussian. Gilbert managed to hold back for a second, then burst out laughing. "Oh, this is great, _vogel___. Keep at it. I guess since you're doing this, I could actually explain to you what's going on... after all, I'm sure I'd get bonus points for making you laugh."_

___"I—I don't...know," Matthew whispered. What the hell was going on? Why wasn't he speaking out? This guy shouldn't be talking to him... oh, where was Alfred when he needed him...!_

___The smile vanished. "Are you alright?" Gilbert questioned, eyes filled with concerned. The Prussian leaned forward again, moving his hand slightly towards Matthew, as though he wanted to comfort him. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..." Matthew continued to stare at his fidgeting hands. "...but you know, a great medicine for that is laughter! So, lemme tell you about why they're hunting me down. It all started with a bet a while back about how many guys Francis could sleep with in one night—"_

___"Wait, what?" Matthew interrupted, shocked, finally looking up._

___Gilbert merely laughed at the Canadian's wide violet eyes."You'll need to meet him to understand. I mean, I suppose I could introduce you to him right now... He's staring at us. A few tables behind you—no! Don't turn! Anyway, we made that bet and I lost, so they made me hit on a girl—not fun, mind you—and, since it was Francis and Antonio's punishment, I decided to get back at them."_

___"How?" Matthew asked, interested now. _

___The Prussian smirked. "Water and hot sauce. I did the water to Francis because he's anal about decorations and smells inside his house. Took forever to set up, but-"_

___"Wait, but what exactly did you do?"_

___"You know this little plastic water cups?" Matthew nodded. "Well, I filled those up about three-fourths of the way each and place them close enough so that if one fell, the others would fall, but no one could step between the cups without making them fall over... And I put them close enough to the door so that he would step in an immediately turn over one of the cups. We live in the same apartment building. You could hear his scream across the hallway." Gilbert grinned again. Matthew chuckled; that sounded like something he would do to Alfred. "Good times, I tell you," Gilbert said. Suddenly, he moved his head. "Huh, well, I think I offended Francis enough." Matthew furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. "Oh, he left, that's all."_

___They sat in silence for a bit._

___"Say, do you have a re-usuable cup?" Gilbert asked suddenly. "It's bad for the environment if you use cups that you have to keep throwing away."_

___"Yeah. I'm not American," Matthew smiled. "I just forgot it at home, and I haven't had a chance to buy a new one. Thank you for reminding me, though."_

___Gilbert chuckled. "Sorry. It's just my little brother is really into environmental stuff, and it's sort of rubbed off on me. Normally I wouldn't—wait, you're not American?"_

___Matthew rolled his eyes. "No, I'm Canadian. And I completely understand about the environmental concern; it's a big deal in Canada."_

___Gilbert grinned. "Give me one minute. Don't move! I'll be back." The Prussian quickly stood and nearly ran into the Starbucks. Matthew smiled slightly. That... had gone pretty well, all things considered. Maybe he should venture into Paris more often... and not near the fucking tourist areas. Seriously. It was starting to get crowded._

___Suddenly, Gilbert reappeared with his hands behind his back. "Hey, well, I actually gotta go in a few minutes, but, uh, I just wanted to thank you for being my get out of jail free card today."_

___Matthew smiled. "It was my pleasure." Will I see you again?_

___"Um, so I figured you'd want this..." He moved his hands forward and in them was a large red cup with the Eiffel Tower carefully drawn. Matthew's smile turned into a small, surprised "Oh."_

___Gilbert placed the cup in front of him, looking slightly sheepish. "Well... um, I guess... You seem like a pretty awesome dude, do you want to-"_

___"Yes," Matthew interrupted eagerly. Gilbert looked taken aback, but quickly recovered with a mischievous glint in his eye._

___"So my apartment around eight?" the Prussian asked in a low voice._

___Matthew blinked, feeling his cheeks burn once again. Gilbert roared with laughter. "I really like you, Matthew. Anyway, do you wanna leave the tourist traps? I'm here all the time really; well, until the summer. But that's besides the point, when can you be awesome enough to hang out with the awesome me?"_

___"Um... tomorrow?" Matthew suggested._

___"Cool. Can we meet at Le Truskel? It's a pretty cool one, lots of indie and punk music."_

___"That sounds good," Matthew agreed to hurriedly. 'Where on earth is that place?'_

___"Alright. I'll see you there at 21:00?"_

___"Yeah," Matthew nodded, strangely giddy._

___"Awesome. _Auf wiedersehen."

"Au revoir!"

Matthew smiled as he remembered that first day. He had never known that giddiness before and it had confused him so. But he later learned that it was nothing but love. He hadn't loved him at first; just for some reason, Gilbert seemed so interesting to him. Gilbert was everything that he had not been: out-going, bold, loud, and a bit obnoxious. He was just fascinating – and incredibly sweet.

He cursed softly as the tea scalded his lips. He'd let it sit for a while now, and it was still burning hot! Carefully, he placed it on the counter and walked to the window. It gave a beautiful view of the cobblestone street below, the trees along the side-walk, and the people strolling by, the woman dressed in shorts and shirts or a tank tank or nice summer dresses and the men with their bright shorts and jeans and button-up t-shirts. He loved standing there whenever he had a moment, listening to snippets of French, German, English, and, more recently, a lot of Chinese and Japanese, as tourists and regular Parisians passed through the streets carrying their bags from Monoprix or souvenirs bought on the streets. He loved the window most of all though because it let him dream of all the far off, unexplored places that he and Gilbert had yet to travel to; it allowed him to observe the world around, just a small bit, and fall in love with it.

A cold breeze came through, making him shiver and walk back with high hopes to his tea. Cautiously, he picked up the mug again and raised it to his lips, blowing on the still hot tea softly. It didn't feel too... he sipped. Nope. Just perfect. He took another small sip, savouring the flavour. He hadn't drunk tea in a while. He loved his job as a teacher for the deaf, but it was exhausting and often required him to drink coffee instead of tea. With a yawn, he placed his cup back on the counter.

**oOooOooOo**

Now dressed in his favourite black, red, and white button-up shirt, jeans, and a dark brown jacket that Alfred had gotten him for his last birthday, Matthew headed down the two flights of stairs as quickly as he could to the ground floor. Though it was quite early in the morning, he ran into a young-ish looking girl with her dark brown hair, carrying two baguettes. "_Bonjour_, _mademoiselle,_" the Canadian said hurriedly with a small smile.

She gave him a small smile and a look up and down – not unlike those that Francis gave him sometimes. "_Bonjour, monsieur_," she replied with a wink. Matthew's smile became awkward, and his descent quickened, cheeks burning as he heard the girl's soft chuckle. Still feeling quite sheepish, the Canadian was relieved when the cold air hit him. Gilbert would have enjoyed that thoroughly and never let it go. Or perhaps he would have gotten slightly jealous and kissed him on the spot. Matthew shook his head at the thought. No, he would have kissed him just to see the expression on the girl's face – which considering the more recent protests, certainly might not have been popular. Silly Gil.

Finally, he reached the bottom of the stairs and walked calmly to the glass door. The Canadian smiled. Today would be a good day. He could feel it.

___Translations:  
Merde –_ shit (French)  
___Au revoir_ – goodbye/until next time (French)  
___Auf wiedersehen_ – goodbye (German)  
___Guten tag_ – Good day/morning (German)  
___Compadre_ – close friend (Spanish informal)

A/N: Just as a cultural note, Monoprix is a chain of stores in Paris (and perhaps other French or European cities, I don't know). They sell food, clothes, schools supplies, etc – it's kind of like a Target or very nice version of Walmart (if that's helpful).


	3. Chapter 2: An Invitation to Memories

**Epitome of Awesome**

**Chapter 2: An Invitation of Memories**

Ludwig could feel his eyes watering with the strain of keeping them. Slightly embarrassed, he lifted a hand to cover up his yawn. Feli had kept him all night because of the thunderstorm, and as much as he loved his beautiful Italian, he really, really wished Feli would just get over his fear of thunder. Slowly, he brought his hand back down the wooden conference table, chiding himself for not having bought a cup of coffee before the meeting started.

The conference room was quite modern. A projector hung from the ceiling and slides moved on the Promethian board beneath. The walls were mostly bare, but every few inches, there would be some poster or photograph of some engineering project that the company had finished or was about to begin. All around the long conference table sat ten engineers, paying rapt attention to the presentation being given by Im Yong Soo, a South Korean engineer who had joined to company only a year before. Most had a coffee mug in front of them, and all had some sort of small pad or notebook with which to take notes. "And so," the Korean concluded, clicking to the final slide, "the bridge will be able work perfectly well—and we will use much less material than originally planned."

Polite applause blossomed in the room. If Ludwig were honest, he would have to admit that he actually had no idea what Soo talking about in his presentation. Still, he had worked with Soo before and while he didn't like the man's attitude, the Korean wasn't a half-baked engineer. A hand came up amid the applause. The room became silent as Soo asked, sounding confused, "Yes, Ms. Oxenstierna?"

"You're wrong," the only female in the room spoke up. Everyone was looking at her, though their expressions should a wide variety of emotions. Ludwig himself had not interacted with her much, but she seemed all right. She was on the quiet side, but polite and caring for those around her. The woman was dressed as she normally did: a blazer with a navy blue under-shirt and pants. She had wavy blonde hair that reached her waist and sea-green eyes framed by black glasses. Ludwig supposed that most men would have found her attractive, but if that was the case, he had to also assume that either none of them liked the idea of flirting with a co-worker or that they were put off by her serious demeanour.

"I'm sorry?" Soo said, raising an eyebrow. Eyes flickered to him, then back to the still stone-faced woman.

"A similar design was attempted in a bridge in Finland," she explained without a hint of emotion in her tone. "In Turku only a few years ago. The bridge bent some hundred or so centimetres. I think that the design should be rechecked for safety; I can help if you'd like. I know a lot about what went wrong with the Finnish bridge."

Soo scoffed. "Ms. Oxenstierna," he said with an air of an annoyed parent speaking to spoilt child. "I beg your pardon, but you've only been here for one month. Look around you, there are many other, much more experienced engineers in this room who would have told me if there was something wrong with my design."

A few of the engineers looked at each other uncomfortably. Ludwig, raised an eyebrow at the interruption, a feeling of protectiveness swirling within him. He hated seeing people treated so harshly, and he had promised himself after _that_ time...

_It was Friday afternoon, and Ludwig was headed towards a park relatively near their home. It wasn't a good trip. He had somehow managed to lose his headphones, the ones Gilbert had bought him for his birthday, and though he could have sworn that they were still inside the house, Gilbert had not been in a good mood that afternoon and yelled at him to go look in the park as Ludwig had been there the night before, hanging out on the bench and just listening to his music. Thankfully the place wasn't all that far, and he soon found himself headed towards that bench again when he heard the ruckus. _

_Great. _

_Ludwig mentally sighed, hoping they wouldn't see him. Gregory had been bothering him since the beginning of time about joining the football (soccer) team. Ludwig enjoyed playing, he really did, but he was not a fan of Gregory and his group. The pack of them were nothing more than a bunch of bullies who liked to rub their athletic abilities in everyone else's faces. And to top it all off, they were homophobes and if Ludwig's secret ever got out – _

_He felt bile rise to his throat in fear. Just don't think about it, he reminded himself. You're just here looking for headphones; that's it. All the same, he made sure to walk a bit further away from the fields, so that they would be unable to tell if it was him. He had just reached the bench when he heard a familiar voice yell, "Hey, friends! Like, what's up?" Surprised, he looked up and nearly face-palmed. Feliks. _

_Ludwig had mixed feelings about the kid. Feliks had transferred about half-way through the year from a school in Poland. Supposedly the move was made because of his parents' work, but rumour had it that he'd been kicked out for a wide variety of issues. All the stories were different, of course, but most made him out to be at best a weirdo and, at worst, a rapist. Feliks tended to brush off the rumours, which Ludwig secretly admired, but it was true that Feliks was certainly not... normal. To begin with, his speech was just flat-out annoying. The kid couldn't not say 'like' every other word. To make matters worse, his voice had a strange feminine quality to it; it was higher than a man's voice should be, but not quite high enough to be a woman's. Which did not help Feliks in the rumour department. Then to top it all off, because apparently Feliks didn't understand the meaning of blending in, the Pole often dressed like a girl. At least once a week, he would show up to school wearing a mini-skirt or sometimes heels or even a dress. Occasionally, Ludwig could have even sworn that he was wearing eye-liner or lipstick. Today seemed to be no exception. Even from a distance, Ludwig could see that the Polish boy was wearing a skirt. "Do you, like, mind if I, like, play with you all?" the Polish boy exclaimed. Ludwig could hear the grin in his voice. For an unknown reason, the German boy moved closer to the field, behind a tree, close enough to hear their conversation. He wasn't sure if he would intervene or not, but either way, this could not possibly end well for Feliks. He heard a few snickers, then Gregory's voice:_

_ "Well, we would, but this is one tough team, so we don't let girls play – unless of course you can prove your not a girl. Fag."_

_ "Ya, like, know there's, like, tots a diff between being, like, gay and, like, being a girl, right?"_

_ Laughter rang out in the field, accompanied by a short yelp. "Well," the voice of another boy sneered, "there's certainly a similarity. Both can't stand having mud on their clothes and neither can take a punch." There was short cry that sounded like something between a cry of pain and a call for help. But Ludwig stayed rooted to the spot, his mind racing. If he helped Feliks then he'd look as though he was Feliks' friend and then they'd all assume that he was gay and then he's be completely screwed. But then if he didn't help Feliks... Shit... Was there a way he could cut in and make sure he wasn't- _

_ "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" came a voice. Gilbert? ! _

_ Ludwig watched, relief washing over him, as familiar mop of white hair ran to the group of students. "What on earth are you doing?" the Prussian snarled. Ludwig felt chills of both excitement and fear. He had never heard his brother sound so angry. _

_ "Woah, woah, dude," came Gregory's voice. "We were just playing around." _

_ "By beating a kid up, four to one?" Gilbert snorted. "I don't think so. Get your asses back home before I change my mind about either beating all of you up myself or calling the cops. And don't think I won't." _

_ for a moment, there was silence, then the boys hurriedly respond, "Yes, sir!" Ludwig breathed a sigh of relief and waited until he sees them leave the vicinity of the park and begins walking to Gilbert and Feliks. The Pole looked all right, though tearful, and was sitting up, talking with the Prussian. Ludwig stayed on the sideline, not wanting to interrupt their moment. Eventually, a small laugh was heard from Feliks and the pair stood. Gilbert shook the Pole's hand, said something else, and then the Pole walked off, Gilbert waving goodbye. _

_ "That's was awesome, Gil," Ludwig said with a smile as he walked towards his brother. _

_ Gilbert turned quickly, as though he was startled by Ludwig's presence. "Ludwig?" he said, sounding confused. "But...you were here the entire time?" Gilbert's voice lowered until it was nearly a hiss. _

_ Ludwig frowned slightly. The lower voice wasn't a good sign. But why was he upset? "Yes. I mean, a bit before you arrived, actually, but I saw the whole thing." _

_ Gilbert blinked at him and took a step closer. "What?" _

_ Ludwig unconsciously took a step back. "Um, yes. What's wrong, _bruder_?" Ludwig gave a small 'oomph' of surprise as Gilbert nearly smacked him against a tree, holding him by the collar. The Prussian's eyes were burning holes through him, the ruby irises wide with anger. _

_ "_Mein gott_, Ludwig!" his older brother yelled. "You were there the entire time and you did nothing to help that poor boy? What the hell is wrong with you?" Ludwig struggled for a moment, then managed to push his brother onto the ground. It took him a moment to realise it, but he was angry. He stared at his older brother and allowed him to get up, but gave him a look that meant to warn Gilbert that Ludwig was no longer a child and was, in fact, probably stronger than Gilbert himself. Gilbert's jaw clenched, but the Prussian seemed to understand that a physical fight would not work in his favour. "Why did you do that, Lud?" Gilbert demanded. "That kid could have seriously been hurt." _

_ "Why did you do what you just did right now?" retorted Ludwig. "Are you coming off from feeling high and mighty because you helped someone weaker than you that makes you think that you throw me around because I didn't?"_

_ "No, I—" _

_ "I'm sick of this, Gilbert!" Ludwig screamed. "I'm sick of you just always acting like you're better than me, like you know the right way to do things and that I'm just a stupid child that doesn't know any better; and I'd like to remind you that at my age you'd come home high our of your mind or completely pissed, ready to collapse drunk!" Gilbert's eyes widened. Ludwig paused to swallow. "You're not my father!" the German teen spat. "Stop acting like it, stop acting like you're—" Ludwig burst into tears. _

_ Gilbert stood, completely shocked at his brother's outburst. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to say that every word that had come out of Ludwig's mouth was a lie. But that would have been unfair and wrong. Instead, he moved to hug his sibling. Ludwig tried weakly to push him away, but Gilbert held on all the tighter. "I'm sorry, Lud." he whispered, feeling tears rise to his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm trying, I promise, but I just don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be a caretaker, much less a father. I just... I can't stand it when people get picked on because they're different, because that's like picking on someone because they're the only person in the room with white hair, or because they're the only ones who speak Spanish or because their dream is to own a bakery, not inherit a company. And I don't want you to be a bystander in that because no one deserves to be picked on because they're different."_

" – furthermore, Ms. Oxenstierna, look around you. There is a reason you are the only female in this room. Yes, you may be good at this and have a degree from whatever university you come from in, what is it? Finland? But, let us face the facts, you will have to work hard to prove—"

_Never again_. Ludwig coughed loudly. "Mr. Soo," he said quickly. Ten surprised eyes landed on him. Ludwig rarely spoke during these meetings, if at all; but it had been Ludwig who had looked over her application when she'd been hired for the job. If her resume had anything to say, this woman knew exactly what she was talking about. "If I might interject, I'd like to correct you. Ms. Oxentierna is not from Finland; she is Swedish. I'd also like to vouch on her claim about the structural support for the bridge. I believe that she is right in suggesting that it should be looked over again. I don't remember the exact details, but I do recall the event in Finland that she is referring to." A lie, but... He looked quickly at her. Her lip had moved into a position that could be described as a smile, and Ludwig felt confidence bloom within him. His tone became colder. "And while I don't wish to make any direct accusations, I would like to remind you that I, for one—and I have been here since I was studying in university,— believe that we should be proud of Ms. Oxenstierna, not because she a woman and an engineer, but because she is a damn' good engineer who has been working in this profession in both her native country and other EU countries for quite some time now. Gender shouldn't be a factor in whether or not we take someone's advice, especially someone as talented as Ms. Oxenstierna."

The room was silent. Im Yong Soo looked like he wanted to fire something back, but a few of the engineers, including their chief, were smiling at Ludwig's small speech. Ludwig resisted the urge to smirk, but gave a small smile to Ms. Oxenstierna, who returned the gesture. The Korean smiled tightly. "All right, then. I will look over my designs and calculations and present them again some time in the near the future. And I assure you, no harm was intended by my words. I believe this concludes our meeting."

Most stood hurriedly and paused only momentarily to give Ludwig a thumbs up or small smile. Ludwig blushed a bit and hurried past the plain and empty hallways down to his office, not wanting to get caught in a conversation. He was hoping to fish some money from his desk to get himself a coffee, but he had barely entered and opened a drawer when someone knocked on the door. He groaned internally, but politely called, "Come in."

It was Ms. Oxenstierna.

The Swede did not smile as she walked into the room, letting the door shut quietly behind her. Ludwig's office was not very big, or at least not much bigger than her own, but she knew that he'd earned it, having worked there for so long. The German was clearly oblivious to his admirers, but Maja had heard them talk often about what a catch he'd been for the firm. Apparently, he had been recommended by his maths professor, a man in his late fifties, whom had worked for the company before becoming a professor. Ludwig had been a quiet, but hard-working kid, a transfer student from Germany, for some reason or another. Soon after the recommendation, the chief had met with the German teen (for he hadn't yet reached twenty when he had been hired), liked him, and hired him. The German had risen quickly through the ranks through nothing but hard work. She had never gone into his office before and, in fact, had only ever spoken to Ludwig once when they both chanced to be grabbing some coffee from the machine in the hall. But the room was exactly as she had expected it to be. She nearly smiled at the room's neatness, the way that everything on the desk, rulers, calculator, pencils and pens were arranged so carefully. It reminded her of her own office. In fact, the only difference she noticed with her sweeping was gaze was the lack of any photographs. She wondered briefly if he had a family. She'd never paid any attention to him, but now that she thought about it, she'd never seen anyone drop by to bring him lunch or some similar event.

Ludwig noticed her staring around the room and felt slightly uncomfortable. He never really liked having others enter his office. His office was his own little corner, private and safe. "What can I do for you?" Ludwig asked politely. The German leaned slightly on the desk in front of him, uncertain of what it was that she wanted. She had never come into his office before.

Her eyes flickered back to him, serious as ever. "Thank you fer standing up for me," she said, completely ignoring his question. Her voice was rough and low and sounded completely sincere. Her arms lay still at her side; she stood strong and tall in front of him. With some surprise, Ludwig noticed that she only a few inches shorter than he.

The German shrugged. He was beginning to really like this woman. She looked him straight in the eye, without any of that silly blushing and giggling that girls tended to do. "What he was doing wasn't fair. Especially when it's based on gender. I hope you don't get that treatment all the time, Ms. Oxenstierna."

"Mrs."

Ludwig frowned. What?

"I'm married," the Swedish woman explained simply. Then a small frown appeared on her features. "Though I suppose it doesn't quite count here."

"Oh..." the German trailed off awkwardly. His eyes flickered to her hands. He'd never seen a ring on her and did not see one on at the moment. Perhaps that was what she meant by 'it doesn't quite count here.' Still, that phrasing was rather strange...

"Could you come to dinner at eight? Aino would enjoy the company," the woman asked bluntly, her expression still as serious as ever.

Aino? That was a strange name. He wasn't even sure he could pronounce it correctly. It also didn't sound Swedish, but Ludwig couldn't quite put a label on it. The German ceased to lean on the desk and now held his hands together nervously. "Um... I," Ludwig stumbled. Was the offer serious? After all, she wouldn't have had enough time to call or text this Aino person to make sure that it was okay. Perhaps she was just offering out of politeness... "I don't know. I don't have any other plans, but my, uh, partner may be cooking dinner to—"

The Swede shrugged. "Bring 'im."

Ludwig felt his cheeks warm. He had been trying to avoid saying boyfriend! How had she known? He had never brought Feli into the office, or even mentioned him, really.

Maja resisted the urge chuckle at Ludwig's shock. He really had no idea how much the others talked about him behind his back. Or perhaps he just didn't care. The only thing she did hope, however, was that he wasn't embarrassed about the whole thing. Was that why he had no pictures of his partner on his desk? Maja did, though she often had to clarify that Aino was not her sister or cousin.

Ludwig bit his lip. "All, all right," he concluded with a small, uncertain smile.

"See ya at eight. I'll email you the address." She walked to the door, then stopped and turned around. "Oh, and call me Maja." Without another word, or waiting for his reply, the woman turned and left the room.

Ludwig blinked. How had that happened?


	4. Chapter 3: Love Story

**Epitome of Awesome**

**Chapter 3: Love Story**

* * *

Turning away from his computer, Gilbert took a resigned look around his office. He couldn't work today. Not today.

Had someone looked into his office, they would not have automatically assumed that something was wrong. Gilbert was in a classic Gilbert pose: reclined as far back as possible on his chair, arms behind his head, and legs stretched out and crossed at his feet with an expression between boredom and contemplation. If anything, the artist looked as though he was merely thinking about his next work. The albino worked with computer-created graphic designs. The company he worked for was quite odd: they made art for art galleries, yes, but they also simply made the type of art that was meant to go into clinics and offices. Gilbert worked for the latter. Usually, he would work with Antonio, one of his best mates and photographer. Tony took all the pictures necessary, and Gilbert just cut and paste and messed with the scanned shots appropriately. Sometimes, they even got request to make collages for graduations and friends. It was an interesting experience. Gilbert was normally a loud, hyper-active person, but when one sat him down in front of a computer with Adobe Photoshop and tons of other software, the Prussian could be silent for hours, meticulously working until the piece was perfect.

But, today, his thoughts were clouded and stormy – and back on memory lane.

_ The Prussian chuckled slightly, looking at his Canadian's beautiful face. A slightly awkward silence fell between them, as their laughter faded—and Gilbert noticed the setting sun. He hurriedly took out his phone, ignoring Mattie's confused look, and cursed under his breath. _

_ He was late. _

_ "Hey, Mattie, I gotta run, or I'm going to be late," Gilber said, standing up quickly and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. _

_ "Where are you going?" Matthew asked, concern etched on his face. The Canadian stood up from his chair as well. _

_ "The hospital." _

_ "The hospital?!" Matthew yelped. "Why? Is everything okay?" _

_ Gilbert hesitated. "Well... everything is kind of wrong," the Prussian said bitterly, "but just not exactly with me. It's, um, it's my, um, well, my _opa_, my grand-dad. He's...sick. So, I'm just visiting."_

_ Gilbert felt his heart melt at the look of genuine concern on Matthew's face. The Canadian stepped forward. "I'm sorry," he said, grabbing Gilbert's hand and squeezing it slightly. Gilbert managed a small smile and kissed Matthew. _

_ "I'll see you tomorrow." _

_ "Tomorrow, then, eh?" Matthew said. _

_ With a final nod, Gilbert left the apartment, fighting tears. He was an idiot—an awesome idiot—but an idiot all the same. He was late, and, on top of that, he had failed to properly explain to his boyfriend about his grandfather. And they'd been dating for three months. Three whole months, and Gilbert was still completely into him. Checking his phone again, as he left the apartment building, he cursed and broke into a run. He was late, late, late. Thankfully, the hospital wasn't too far from Mattie's apartment, and Gilbert wasn't completely covered in sweat when he reached the door. The air-conditioning was a nice welcome. Gilbert walked up to the nurse's desk, pen out, ready to sign in. The nurse merely smiled at him; she knew him well. She was a small thing with short blond hair and green eyes. She didn't look much older than sixteen, but Gilbert knew that, whatever her age was, she was a damn' good nurse, and he certainly wasn't going to complain. _

_ "How's it going, Lil?" he asked, scratching his name and the date hastily on the sheet. _

_ "I'm doing well—and doing good, I hope. Your grandfather should be awake. I checked in on him about fifteen minutes ago."_

_ Gilbert smiled, relieved. "Thanks, Lil." He didn't like it when his _opa_ was asleep. It made him feel like his guardian was already dead—and what if he didn't wake up? _

_ "My pleasure," she smiled back. "Now, hurry on, you're late." _

_ Gilbert rolled his eyes, but walked down the hall quickly. He no longer had to look at the door numbers. He'd long since learned exactly where the door to his grandfather's room was. He probably could have done it blindfolded at this point. The door was wide open. His grandfather was the only patient in the room, and the old man's lip twitched at the sight of him. His sharp angular features had somewhat been lost to the wrinkles on his face, but his sky blue eyes still watched, alert as hawk and proud as an eagle. His long blonde hair was tucked beneath his head and ran down into the blankets that covered him. "You're late," he commented. _

_ Gilbert gave him a shit-eating grin. From anyone else—even Ludwig, maybe—the comment would have annoyed Gilbert to no end, but from his _opa... _absolutely not. "Yeah. I kind of lost track of time while I was at __Mattie's apartment." His grandfather made no comment, but Gilbert saw where this was going. "Yes, yes. I'll bring him here at some point. I promise." His _opa_ raised an eyebrow, and Gilbert remembered the golden rule. "Yes, _opa_, I'm serious about him." The old man nodded. End of conversation. Gilbert nearly let loose a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn't been grilled on that one. "How was your day?" Gilbert asked, after a long pause. _

_ "It was all right. Lilly has been very helpful to me, and a younger girl, a volunteer, I believe, was up here for a few hours trying to teach me how to play her insane video games." _

_ Gilbert snorted, then began laughing loudly, trying to picture his serious grandfather playing video games with a teenage girl. At the sight of his grandfather's still stern face, he merely laughed harder. "What?" his _opa _asked._

_ "Sorry, it, um, it sounds a lot like something Matthew's crazy brother would do," Gilbert lied. _

_ The old man's expression did not change. It was difficult to know if he'd caught onto the lie, but Gilbert supposed that he had. The old man had a radar like no one else. "Tell me more about Matthew." _

_ "Well, he—"_

_ "I'm sorry I'm late!" Ludwig's voice came. Gilbert turned, and there stood his younger brother who clearly hadn't even bothered to change from his school uniform. Ludwig's hair was, of course, slicked backwards, though a few strands had managed to escape their gelled prison during his brother's dash; his button-up shirt was now soaked with sweat. His backpack was still on, the straps still failing from Ludwig's sudden stop. The young German ran a hand through his hand, attempting to push back the strands that had found their way to his forehead. "We got held back after class." _

_ His _opa _nodded at him, then looked pointedly at Gilbert. "Um, well, Matthew's an awesome guy, and—"_

_ His grandfather sighed. "If I were given a Euro, a single Euro, each time that you said the word 'awesome,' I swear, I think I'd have enough to buy three or four new houses by the Seine." _

_ Gilbert merely grinned at him again. "Well, actually," Ludwig interrupted. The boy slung his backpack off and took out a notebook, scribbling on it hastily. "I don't think so." Gilbert and his grandfather gave each other a knowing look. Gilbert face-palmed._

_ "Um, Lud, we didn't—"_

_ "No! It's okay, Gilbert, I've got it." The German boy's blue eyes shined with excitement as he scribbled on the notebook. "And, sorry, _opa_. You wouldn't have enough. You see, Gilbert says 'awesome' about ten times each hour—keep in mind it's an average—but while there are twenty-four hours in a day, Gilbert is probably only up for about sixteen of those hours. So if you multiply those, you get 160 'awesome's each day. There are 356 days in each year and Gilbert's obsession with the word 'awesome' started when he was sixteen. So, if you multiply 160 by 356 and then multiply that by eight—which is the number of year's Gilbert's been saying the word 'awesome'. And if you do that, then you get 455.680 Euros. So, you could buy one house, but not two," Ludwig reasoned. _

_ Gilbert and their grandfather merely stared at the teen. Ludwig looked at both o__f them with an air of pride about his accomplishment.__ "Have you managed to teach him nothing?" their _Opa_ finally asked Gilbert. _

_ Gilbert shook his head, sighing. "I've tried. I've brought him alcohol; I've offered him cigarettes; I've invited him to clubs. I even set him up on a few dates. I've done everything I can," Gilbert said. The old man on the bed sighed and nodded in a resigned manner. _

_ Ludwig blinked in surprise, his intelligent eyes flickering between his brother and his grandfather uncertainly. Then it seemed that something occurred to him. "Wait," Ludwig said, shocked. "You set me up?" The teen placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, forcing him to turn towards him. _

_ Gilbert shrugged, though his red eyes clouded with mischief. "Belle owed me," the Prussian answered nonchalantly. "If it makes you feel any better," the older brother half-snickered, "she said that you are kind of cute in a socially awkward way, but that you're a bit nerdy and serious and not exactly her type. But she says she'd be down if I brought you along on one of our—"_

_ "No," Ludwig interrupted, a smile threatening to break onto his lips. "It's fine. More than fine, actually." The teen looked relieved. _

_ Gilbert smirked. _Of course. _"Hey, Lud, is there something you'd like to tell us?" _

_ "What?" Ludwig asked, looking slightly panicked. "No. I mean, not that I could think of..." _

_ "You sure, Ludwig. You know we'll love you no matter what," Gilbert said, unable to stop a smile from blossoming on his features. The albino's red eyes shone with mischief. He had known for a while now that Ludwig was gay. It was actually pretty obvious if you weren't begging to see stereotypes for proof. But still pretty obvious with the way he blushed and stuttered around that brunette Italian kid that had some class or another with him. _

_ "Gilbert," his grandfather said warningly. _

_ "fine, fine," Gilbert grumbled. "I won't mention it." Ludwig let go of him and looked relieved once more. _

_ "Sit," their grandfather said. "I want to tell you all a story..." The old man's blue eyes stared out the window, lost in the sea of lights and cars returning home. _

Gilbert sniffed slightly, bringing up his clenched fist to his eyes and rubbing at them viciously. He should be happy. He should be thrilled about the news, but, at the same time, it reminded him only of all those lost opportunities. Of his grandfather's dead dreams. Of his own wilting dreams.

Of how different life could have been if a government had tried to legislate morality.

A small chirp brought a smile to his face. He removed himself from his sitting position and stood up walking to the rather large cage that hung from the corner. Most had a television in that corner of their office, but Gilbert—after much cajoling—had managed to get a cage installed for his pet, Gilbird. The tiny little thing chirped again. "I'm coming," Gilbert whispered. With nimble fingers, he opened up the cage and stuck out his index finger. The yellow puff-ball eagerly hopped on, and Gilbert slowly brought him out of the cage, careful not to startle him. Gilbert smiled at the sight, bringing his other index finger to rub the top of the creature's head. "Well, at least you're still here," Gilbert mumbled to the bird.

And that he was. The last memory, the last gift that he had from his _Opa_, his _vater_.

* * *

_A/N: Alexander is Germania and Lilly is Lichtenstein._


	5. Chapter 4: The Vargas-Carriedo Household

**Epitome of Awesome**

**Chapter 4: In the Vargas-Carriedo Household**

_A/N: Caterina is fem!South Italy. _

* * *

Sometimes, Caterina Vargas - Vargas, not Carriedo, damn' it - wished she'd just die. Today was one of those days.

"_Quien? Pero quien te dijo que crearase este pinche desastre! Mendiga niña, per deberdad que tu no puedes hacer nada bien!" _(Who? Who told you to make this mess! Stupid girl, you can't do anything right!)

Yes, today was one of those days. One of those days during which she tried to do something nice, only to end up getting yelled at and punished. One of those days during which, once again, Mrs. Carriedo had her hand on her hips and menancingly waving finger too close for comfort to Caterina's nose, screaming at her in rapid Spanish that Caterina hardly understood. So the Italian girl merely nodded, trying her best not to cry and/or yell back.

"Do you understand?!" Mrs. Carriedo was normally a nice lady, but ever since her husband died and Tony had left for Germany, she'd become unbearable, treating Caterina like a servant.

"_Si, señora,_" Caterina responded meekly, eyes on the floor. In reality, she hadn't understood most of what Mrs. Carriedo had said, but she figured that asking the crazed woman to repear herself probably was not the best course of action. Besides, with the kitchen looking as it did, Caterina could guess what the lady wanted. Thankfully, though, with a final scowl and look of disapproval, Mrs. Carriedo left the room, and Caterina was left alone. Rolling her eyes, the Italian grabbed a broom from where it leaned against the wall and began sweeping up the mess of flour that she'd made. Her mind fired away with all the things she wished she'd said.

Because Mrs. Carriedo had no right to yell at her like that. Who the hell did that bitch think she was? If anything, Caterina was doing her a favour, cooking for Tony's return, just because that lazy douchebag wasn't willing to cook for herself. So what if Caterina had managed to knock down a bag of flour and get some egg yolk on the floor and filled the sink to the brim with dirty dishes and get tomato on the walls because she'd forgotten to put the lid on the blender? She was going to make the most delicious dinner Tony had ever had. In fact, Caterina knew just what she'd do: she wouldn't add enough salt to any of the stuff, just to tick that woman off. If that lady wanted salt, she could add it herself. Caterina was not her fucking servant.

And this point, the Italian was red in the face with fury and scrubbing away at dishes like nobody's business. Because how dare - the loud clang resonated in the kitchen as two pots slammed against each other - that freaking bitch - spoons clattered onto the floor and, annoyed at her clumsiness, Caterina picked them up hurriedly - tell her what to do?! She wasn't her mother and -

"Cati?"

Caterina froze, becoming even redder, but this time, with embarrassment. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She hadn't wanted him to see her like this, all sweaty and dirty from being in the kitchen with her hair in a messy bun. And the kitchen was a freaking mess and dinner wasn't ready. The Italian girl stiffened as she felt arms come around her. A happy laugh came from her love's lips as he held her tightly against his chest. "You smell really nice," he whispered to her.

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Caterina immediately pushed him away. The girl wiped at her apron desperately, as though trying to get it clean. "Go away, tomato bastard," she growled, turning back to the stove to check on the pasta. She hoped he would stay. Then chided herself and mentally cursed him for ever coming back. Antonio laughed at her, that stupidly charming grin of his appearing on his face. She scowled away a smile and glared at him as though blaming him for the effect that his smile had on her. He seemed to notice this and merely came closer. Gently, he took her hand, bowed his head slightly, and kissed the top of her palm. Stupid Tony. Her heart racing a mile a minute, she yanked her hand away as he chuckled.

"If I am the tomato bastard, are you the tomato bitch? After all, Cati, you like them as much as I do," he grinned, gesturing towards the walls that Caterina had yet to clean.

The girl scowled, turning back to the stove though she really had nothing to check on anymore. "Fuck off. And my name's Caterina, not Cati."

Antonio pouted, his bright green eyes growing slightly wider and filling with the innocence of a child. "But don't you like it when I call you Cati?" Caterina turned, noticing that he was holding his hands together right in front of him as he tended to do. Fucking hell, why did he always do this to her?!

Yes, she wanted to say. I like it. "No, you bastard," she grimaced, pushing past him to grab a rag so that she could begin cleaning off the walls. "Now, go away." Please stay. She began working on the space between the cabinets and the counter where the tomato covering was the thickest. What a pity, too. Those had been the tomatoes from their garden. Perhaps Mrs. Carriedo wasn't so wrong; Caterina had to be pretty stupid to forget the lid to blender. She scrubbed away, feeling Tony's eyes on her, but she refused to turn around to look at him. Finally, she felt her heart drop a little when she heard his footsteps leaving her - but then surprised her.

Eyebrows scrunched in concentration, Tony, too, was scrubbing at the tomato sauce. He noticed her watching and glanced at her with a smile before continuing. Caterina forced herself to swallow the smile that was threatening to appear on her lips. "You don't have to do that," she grumbled irritably. But of course Tony would...

Grinning, he turned his head to look at her, his long-ish brown hair swinging forward, and winked. That stupid heart-stopping wink. That stupidly gorgeous chocolate brown hair. And that stupid, stupid, stupid grin! "_Cualquier cosa por mi reina_. Anything for my queen." She glowered at him, feeling the butterflies in her stomach flutter wildly.

"Don't say that, you bastard," she cursed, shoving him slightly, then returning to her work. With a grin, he shoved her back playfully. She looked at him, anger in her eyes. But Tony merely continued to grin, looking at her with child-like curiousity, waiting for what her response would be. "We're not playing this game, To- Antonio."

"You were gonna call me Tony!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were!"

"No, I wasn't."

"Don't deny it! You were!"

"I said, we're not playing this game, tomato bastard."

Antonio pouted. Damn' it why did he look so cute when he did that! "But it's fun," the Spainard protested meekly. The Italian glared at him. "You're cute when you're all worked up like that," he said softly. His green eyes looked at her sincerely while hers stared back wide, uncertain, and uncomprehending. Slowly, he raised a hand to touch her cheek.

"_Antonio! Mi niño chiquito!" _(Antonio! My little boy!) Mrs. Carriedo's voice came from the doorway. Tony cursed under his breath and turned just in time to receive a large hug and a kiss on both cheeks from his excited mother.

"Hola, Mami," the Spaniard said, annoyance barely suppressed.

"_Aye, pero como haz estado? Porque no tocaste la puerta y para que le estas ayudando a esta nina torpe_?" (Oh, how have you been? Why didn't you knock on the door, and why are you helping this idiotic girl?)

"Mama," Tony said sternly. "Don't call her that. I was just trying to help her clean up the kitchen."

"Aye, Antonio. You've got better things to do than that. You gotta unpack and tell me all about France and Germany and Belgium and all of those other places you've been to!"

"I'll tell you over dinner," he insisted, his voice taking on an irritated tone. "But right now I'd rather help Cati with the stuff. I'm kind of hungry and I miss her pasta like no other." Cati nearly smiled at the compliment. Mrs. Carriedo rolled her eyes.

"OK. Just remember you've got two girls to attend, not just one!" she teased lightly and left the room.

"Sorry about that," Tony said quietly, returning to his work. For a brief moment, she wondered why he seemed to be sweating slightly. Perhaps he'd gotten used to the colder temperatures of Germany already. The thought made her sad, and her high faded quickly.

"You should be," Caterina found herself bitterly spitting out. She, too, continued to scrub at the wall. "It's only gotten worse since you left." She didn't dare look at him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, not looking at her. Cati did not reply; she only scrubbed harder, taking out her frustrations on the now sticky tomato sauce. What was it she felt for him? Jealousy? Probably, that bastard had had the chance to get out and here she was still, still getting yelled at, still unable to find her family. Still stuck here while he got to go off and explore the world. She hated him; she hated herself because she was weak and never could do anything, and she hated him because he could. Because he was such a bright little ball of sunshine, and she was pouring, gloomy rain that drowned everything in it's path. He caused her fucking misery because she knew that he had lied to her.

"Cati, I'm really, really sorry," he said yet again. He had stopped scrubbing at the wall. "I just... I feel this need to leave. I don't..." he paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words. "I think there's something else out there for me, but I don't know what. I just... I can't see myself in Spain anymore. I can't see myself here. I needed to leave to go see what else was out there, and I know it was selfish of me to do that to you, but there was just too much here, too many chains. I don't know if that makes any sense to you, or if you'd forgive me if you understood, but I want you to understand..." He stopped, biting his lip, his green eyes watering. She looked at him expectantly.

"Would you," he hesitated. "Would you come back with me? I, I kept my promise."

It suddenly seemed to her that the distance between them simultaneously become infinitely small and infinitely large. His green eyes, normally mischievous, stared right through her. Their intensity frightened her slightly. But she snorted at his proposal all the same, though his words fed the hope in her heart. "That was eight years ago," she said shortly, turning back to the wall. It looked much better now, and in fact was passable, but she wanted every single drop to disappear. Suddenly, without thinking, she stopped her movements and added, "I never promised anything back."

There was a slight, surprised silence, then: "Come with me anyway."

Caterina bit her lip, hard. Fucking bastard. His tone hadn't even changed. He didn't care. He had lied; why did he lie? She turned towards him, the rag in her hand shaking. "And live off what?" Caterina snapped. "Hopes and dreams? For your information, the economy isn't very good, do you think I even have a job? Who would I stay with? What would I do with my life in potato land or wherever the hell you plan on going?" She was now screaming and waving the rag wildly above her head. "I don't have any money; I don't have any special talents that I can rely on. I don't even trust you. And you want me to leave the one place I've ever known so that I can just follow you and your crazy, fucking stupid ideas!"

She had surprised herself. She had expected to cry on that one.

Antonio was silent. His eyes stared at her as if he were soaking in all of her screams. She was breathing heavily, angrily. Of course. This was all probably news to him. Annoyed at his silence, she turned off the stove with a huff and slammed the cabinet open. She pulled down a strainer, put in the sink, then dumped the pasta in, cursing slightly as the boiling water splashed onto her skin. She stared at the clumpy pasta in the strainer. Her food always came out wrong when she was upset. She stiffened slightly at the sensation of someone standing behind her and then at the sensation of arms around her.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't dreamed of that happening - but her thoughts were cut off by his next move.

He kissed her, harshly, too. As though he were angry, though angry with himself or angry at her or at the circumstances, she did not know. She wanted to stay still, but she found herself going along with him even though she felt she shouldn't have. She felt the incorrectness of the action to her very core, but for some reason it felt too right to let go.

Finally, he pulled away from her, yanking away his hand from where it had lain on the back of her head, nestled in her light brown hair. "I was right," he said softly.

"I hate you."

He smiled slightly. "I know. But I love you even if you don't love me, too." The intensity in his eyes strengthened and Caterina felt her self-control declining. She wanted to deny it. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to be able to trust chance. But she was scared. He continued, "I love you so much that I think my heart can't handle it, that I would throw myself under the bus for you. I only came back to see you... I, I had been hoping... I'd been hoping that you would come back with me, but I know now that I was right." He raised his hand to her cheek, stroking her cheek gently. "You're not ready."

She frowned at him, but found herself stepping towards him as he stepped back with another small, sad smile.

"You know," he smiled, "the last time this happened, I stopped myself because I thought you were too young. You were sixteen back then, don't you remember? I remember we had the talk in the kitchen that time, too." He laughed a bit. A dry laugh. "I think this time is minorly better. At least you haven't thrown any tomatoes at me."

"Don't test me," Caterina muttered. There was silence between them for some time. Neither moved, and it seemed to them that they were both holding their breaths, waiting to see who would make the next move. Finally, Caterina broke the silence: "So, what happens now? You go back to Potatoland, get another girlfriend, and forget about my existence?"

Antonio shook his head slowly. "Yes... and no. I will go back to Germany. And you... I suppose you will stay here, if that's what you wish or if that's the only thing you believe you can accomplish." He took a step forward. She stood still. He took another and then hugged her tightly. He whispered in her ear, "_Tu eres el amor de vida, nunca te podre olvidar._ (You are the love of my life, and I will never be able to forget you.)I'll never have another. I will wait." He released her from the embrace, but left a hand on her shoulder. "But... if you do decide that Spain is no longer the place for you, or decide that, for some crazy reason, Potatoland as you like to call it-" he smiled at the nickname "-is a place you'd like to go to, you'll have a place to go to. That much I will promise you."

And with that, he turned around and began walking out the door.

"Wait!" Caterina called. "Is that all, you tomato bastard? You're just going to leave like that!"

He turned, a slight look of confusion on his features. "No, I'm staying for dinner. But I just thought I'd give you some space..." Suddenly, he smirked. "Or did you want a kiss?"

Caterina felt herself flush red. "N-no. Just go away!" she snapped though she wasn't really angry. Antonio seemed to sense this, and, with a mocking bow, left the room, laughing as he went. Caterina waited until his footsteps sounded far away from the kitchen before allowing herself a small smile. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I would like a kiss." She turned back to the nearly clean wall. They had actually managed to get quite a bit done in the time they'd spent together.

She hummed slightly to herself as she continued.


	6. Chapter 5: Preparations

**A/N: **Aino is fem!Finland. Maja is fem!Sweden.

* * *

**Epitome of Awesome**

**Chapter 4: Preparations **

"Peter! Don't run on the—"

A yelp interrupted Aino's shout, followed by a crash and an 'Oomph!' Despite her annoyance, Aino could not help, but run towards her eight-year-old son, Peter; she herself nearly slipped on the wet linoleum. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need a band-aid or something?" the Finnish woman asked quickly, kneeling beside him, her violet eyes filled with worry. The boy merely gave her a wide grin and said,

"I'm okay! There's nothing to worry about, Mommy!" He said the last part while rolling his eyes, prompting Aino to purse her lips as she helped him up.

"I'm telling Mum about this," the woman said, feeling slightly bad at Peter's crestfallen look. "I've told you, time and time again, Pete; you can't run on the floor while I'm cleaning it. It gets really slippery and one of these days you're going to get hurt."

"Yes, Mama," the boy said, eyes cast down. Freaking Peter, thought Aino, he's learnt too well what makes me feel bad. Sure enough, though Aino could not see it because Peter's head was bowed, Peter was smiling slightly. Shaking her head in acknowledgement of her defeat, Aino ruffled his blond hair. Just as she expected, Peter looked up at her with another large grin and shining blue eyes.

Sighing, Aino put her hands in her pockets and dug out a twenty Euro note, then handed it to him. He looked at her, then glanced down at the note with some surprise. "Mum's having some guests over. A nice man from her company and his boyfriend (or something in that realm, she's not really sure)," Aino amended. "Anyway, could you please run down to the Monoprix and get us some things to drink? I'm not sure what they like. I don't want to have any more Coke in the house than what is necessary. Maybe some fruit juices? Everyone likes that raspberry-apple mix, right? Maybe some of that. Oh! And some Orangina for sure. I'm sure you can figure it out," the Finnish woman babbled.

"Okay," responded Peter simply, turning away from his mother to go out. He could feel the excitement boiling in his stomach. Aino never let him go out alone. Maja did sometimes (so long as Peter promised to not tell Aino), but Aino never did. Sure, the Monoprix wasn't far, but maybe this meant she was loosening up. Maybe he'd be allowed to go to the park by himself! Maybe she'd let him get a dog for his birthday this year!

"Peter," his mother quickly turned him around to face her. Peter held back a sigh. "Be careful," she implored him, kneeling slightly, so that she was about his height. "And—"

"Don't talk to strangers," he interrupted. "And you don't feel safe, then pull out your cellphone and at least pretend that you're calling someone or stick to a family that looks nice. Look both ways before you cross the street even if the green man is lit. Make sure to say, '_Bonjour_' to the people at the cash register when you come in. It's rude not to," he finished. Aino felt colour rush to her cheeks. Did she really say that so often that he had memorised it? "Don't worry, Mama," her son sighed as children do. "I'm gonna be okay."

"All right, all right. _Rakastan teitä_," Aino responded with a small, sheepish smile.

Peter gave her one last grin, then ran to the door. "Love you, too! Bye!" he called as the door slammed shut.

With a sigh, Aino carefully walked across the drying linoleum, inspecting her work as she went. The floor looked cleaner. Hopefully it would stay like that... Humming to herself now, she returned to the stove where water was beginning to boil. Unsure of the tastes of Maja's co-worker, she'd decided against a Finnish meal and instead decided to make a simple, more generic (but still delicious) pasta with pesto and grilled chicken. Maja hadn't warned her about any special dietary needs, but then again that was exactly the sort of thing that her Maja wouldn't ask about. A smile appeared on Aino's features as she poured the noodles into the water. Knowing Maja, the poor man had probably been intimidating into accepting the dinner; she'd probably just barged into his office and asked with no explanation. The Finnish woman giggled to herself as she pictured the encounter. She leaned against the counter for a moment, then frowned as pushed some of her blonde hair behind her ear. What should she do for dessert? No ice cream. This meal was already generic enough, and it had been rather cold the past few days – crazy Parisian May weather.

Maybe some _omenalumi_? After all, she had promised Peter she would make some soon. Groaning slightly as parents tend to do when they regret promising their children something, she yanked open the refrigerator door and pulled out some eggs and applesauce.

Worriedly, she glanced at the clock. It had been only six or seven minutes since Peter left, but already, she was worried about him. She certainly didn't want to be an over-protective mother, but she had practically been raised on the streets and she was not about to let him go and face the same things. Besides, she worried for him just in general...

She and Maja had married in 2009 when their marriage became legal in Sweden. Work had been going well for Maja, and Aino had just graduated from teacher's college when they made the decision to adopt. It had been a rather difficult decision. At first, they had thought that it might be better to undergo artificial insemination. But Maja seemed uncomfortable with the idea of being pregnant and argued that she shouldn't be out of work for so long as Aino had yet to get a stable job. Aino had initially had no problem with the idea of artificial insemination. Then Maja just had to bring up the fact that there were already so many children in the world who didn't have homes; why should they bring another into the world when there were other children who deserved parents, too? Which made Aino guilty because Maja was so annoyingly right. She did want to have her own child, but why should it have made a difference to her if the child was biologically hers or not?

Then again, she had known, deep down, why it was that she wanted her own biological child...

"Älskling_, I've been thinking about the whole adoption or having a child of our own... and I still think it might be best if we just go for the insemination. After all, with adoption, things get complicated. I mean, at some point the child will want to know who their real parents are; they might even want to go off looking for them. And that's if we adopt them young enough so that they don't remember their parents. But if we adopt an older child, then it might be more difficult and more problematic because they're unaccustomed to having parents," Aino rushed, struggling to come up with excuses, as she sat down on the bed next to her wife._

_Maja looked at her with some confusion. The Swede was already laying down with an open book close to her. "You're a teacher, aren't you?" the woman said bluntly. "Isn't that your job? To help them with their struggles even if they're too old or stubborn?"_

_Aino opened her mouth, but found herself speechless. Maja stared at her for a few moments, then she seemed to realise something. "I didn't mean to be so blunt," the Swede said hurriedly. Aino cracked a smile; Maja was beginning to realise just how blunt or rude she could be even without meaning to be._

"_It's all right," the Finn responded quietly. "I guess you're right, though. I just..." Aino groaned slightly, bringing her hands to together and interlacing her fingers. Maja frowned slightly. The Finn only did that when she was nervous. But she had nothing to be nervous about... "I just feel like..." and quite suddenly, she flipped over so that her face was buried in the pillow. Maja's frown deepened, and the Swede's hand hovered over her lover's back, unsure of what the Finn needed. A sniffle was heard and the hand came down onto Aino's back, rubbing circles onto it._

_Maja leaned down and whispered in her ear, "_Kultaseni_, what's wrong?" Aino looked at her, the whites of her eyes beginning to tint with red. Her sobs worsened, and the Finn managed to sit up and just about fall into Maja's arms. The Swede held her tightly. "Aino, Aino, _älskling_. Tell me; why are you crying?"_

_Aino moved slightly away from her body, but managed not to break the embrace. "I don't understand," she cried, rubbing desperately at her eyes. "Why, Maja? Why do I still care about them? Why do I still want to please them so badly?"_

_Maja frowned, grabbing at Aino's hands. "What are you talking about, Aino?"_

"_My parents!" the Finn cried suddenly, ripping her hands away from Maja's. "They threw me out! They hate me! They didn't even come to our wedding! They never even ask for me and yet here I am refusing an orphan parents just to please them!" Aino took a deep, shuddering breath. "I hate them. No, I want to be able to hate them, for fuck's sake why don't I hate them?" she shouted. Then burst into tears once again._

_Maja stared at her, unsure of what to do. She had never, never seen Aino so unhinged before, not the day she'd spoken with her on the phone, asking to be taken in after her parents threw her out; not the day she arrived at Maja's door with nothing more than what was in her backpack; not the day when she called her house phone and both her parents' cellphones and was told by a machine that all three numbers had been disconnected._

_Not the day she'd gone back, wedding invitation in hand, and had the door shut in her face._

"_Aino," Maja whispered, holding her tightly once again, feeling her lover's tears soak into her shirt. "Aino, I love you. I love you because you don't hate them and because you can't. Because you keep trying and trying and you never give in and you never let it get to you."_

_How long Maja held her, she did not know. She just knew that eventually, she felt so exhausted that she drifted off somehow, and woke up, with blankets over her and Maja's arms still holding her._

"Mama?"

Peter stood at the doorway of the kitchen, staring at his teary mother and holding two heavy-looking bags. "Mama, what's wrong?" the British boy asked with concern. He left the bags at the door and walked over to her.

...She hadn't even noticed that she was crying slightly. "Oh, um, sorry, sweetie. It's just the onion."

Peter gave her a confused look, then snorted. "You're cutting chicken," he pointed out.

Aino looked down at the sliced up chicken on the cutting board. "And you have yet to learn some social cues," she shot back, wiping at her eyes with her wrist, then walking to the sink to wash her hands. Peter pouted, and she laughed at his expression. "You got enough, I take it?" The boy nodded then handed her a two Euro coin. She gave it look, shrugged, then said, "You keep it." Peter's eyes widened, and he gave her another happy grin.

"Thanks, Mama!"

"Mhmm," she responded absent-mindedly. "You can use it to buy that notebook you said you needed for school." Instantly, Peter's grin vanished. The boy sighed, recognising the lost cause. Unaware of her son's displeasure, the Finnish woman continued, "Could you please set up the table, dear? I know dinner doesn't start terribly soon, but I'd like to have everything ready." She turned to find a pout on Peter's features. For a moment, she frowned, wondering why he was pouting, then she realized that he must have been disappointed about the coin. Ah, well, he would thank her once they got him his birthday gift. After all, a healthy, vaccinated puppy was not cheap. "And, Peter?" she called to him as he began walking to the dining room.

"Yes, Mama?"

"Stop pouting," she said gently. "There's _omenalumi_ for dessert."

Instantly, the boy's expression changed. "Yay! Thank you, Mama!" the British boy grinned, then ran into the dining room to complete his task. Aino turned back to the stove where she had just dumped in the pasta. She'd have to make the _omenalumi_ in the last few minutes. Hopefully they were punctual...

She had just finished putting the chicken in to cook when she heard the jingle of keys. Viscerally, she smiled to herself. The door closed softly. "Aino? Peter?" came her wife's soft low voice.

"I'm in the dining room, Mum!" Peter's excited voice came.

"Kitchen, love," Aino called. She knew that Maja would go to Peter first. Sure enough, a few seconds later she heard a few squeals of delight from Peter and his excited voice chattering away about the lizard he had managed to capture at school. He was in the middle of describing how the lizard had nearly bit his thumb when Aino walked into the dining room, shaking her head slightly with a smile at her son's story.

"Mama!" Peter interrupted himself. "Did you hear me in the kitchen? I was just telling Mum about the lizard that I found! It was really, really small and green, but it changed colours. It was super weird, but I loved it. Could I have a lizard? Please? I mean, it would be easier to take care of than a dog!"

Maia and Aino shared a knowing look. Peter really had no idea that they were planning to get him a puppy. Just not until his birthday. '"Well," Aino began craftily, "perhaps we can talk about it later – after you set up the table."

"Yes, Mama," the boy sighed, defeated. He moved to continue to place the cups and plates as Maia followed Aino back into the kitchen. Upon closing the door, Aino giggled slightly and leaned against the counter. "I didn't think I'd be this good at keeping it a secret!" the Finn said excitedly. Maia did not respond, but merely moved in for a quick kiss. Aino looked up at her, a teasing look in her eyes. "That was fast, älsking."

Maia's lip twitched. "It's been a long day," the Swede said shortly, moving in or another kiss, but this time deeper and longer. It had seemed too quiet or Aino, anyway, when they broke apart upon hearing:

"Ugh, really, you guys?" Peter stood in the doorway. "Can't you save all that lovey-dovey stuff for when I'm not around?" he complained.

With a small smirk, Aino kissed Maja again while Peter turned away and Maja's face quickly began resembling a tomato. The kiss, however, was brief, and Aino soon let go, continuing nonchalantly, "Peter, have you finished setting up that table yet?" Despite her embarrassment, Maia's lip was twitching. Aino held back yet another smirk; she didn't want to know what sorts of insane ideas were going on in the Swede's head. Peter rolled his eyes at his mothers' antics.

"Yep, I'm done. Everything's good."

Aino beamed at him and Maja. "Awesome! So, now all we need to do is wait for them to arrive. You did tell them twenty-hundred hours, right, Maja?"

The Swedish woman nodded. "He's German," she said shortly. Aino chuckled slightly. Peter looked at them both, completely confused.

"Germans... tend to be punctual," Aino explained quickly to the boy. "Like... right on dot, not a second late punctual."

"Why?" Peter asked curiously.

Maja shrugged, and Aino gave him a contemplative look. "I don't know," Aino said slowly. "I think it's just a part of their culture. I mean, it is not as though every German is always on time. But it's a stereotype. Just like how those kids at school thought that all you would drink was tea."

"But I don't like tea," Peter interjected.

"Exactly. But it's also a stereotype that British people drink a lot of tea."

"And make disgusting food," Maja added. "Although I think that one is true." Aino gave her a chiding look, as though reprimanding her for supporting such stereotypes - especially when they were a direct reference to their son. But Peter was no longer paying attention to them. Instead, he was staring at the clock in the living room, mouthing something.

"Peter?" Aino asked, confused.

"Ma! You made me lose count!" Peter whined. "Wait, wait!" he said before Aino could say another word. "They should ring the doorbell just about... NOW!"

And sure enough, the doorbell rang.

* * *

**A/N: **Omenalumi (literally, apple snow) is a Finnish dessert made of beaten raw egg whites, applesauce, cinnamon, and sugar. It's quite yummy, at least to my taste buds. Also, props to you, if you know from where fem!Finland's name comes.


	7. Chapter 6: A Welcome Visit

**Epitome of Awesome**

**Chapter 5: Welcome Visits**

Stomach full of pancakes, Matthew wandered out the door of their home quietly, forgetting, as he often did, to lock the door. His hands found their way into his pockets, and his feet seemed to dance across the concrete, sweeping into the middle, as though the Canadian were balancing himself on a wire. His blond, wavy hair hung down to his shoulders, bouncing slightly as he walked along the street. His quick steps quickened as he passed through the alleyway, crinkling his nose at the smell of stale piss. But he managed to give a passing woman and child a small smile as they both hurried through. Matthew had expected that over the years he would have become accustomed to the smell - after all, he had to pass through this same alleyway every day - but he had had no such luck.

Finally, he made it through the alleyway, entering a bigger street. He was careful to watch out for any cars that might be passing by. No one, in the entirety of Europe, it seemed, paid any mind to traffic laws. A small smile lit his features. Even from a block away, he could smell it: the small _pâtisserie _on the corner owned by a middle-aged Frenchman named Francis. Matthew had found out later was one of Gilbert's best friends. Matthew hadn't really liked the Frenchman upon meeting him. The man couldn't keep his hands to himself and kept calling Matthew his '_cheri_,' as though he expected that Matthew had no clue what he was saying.

Which Matthew most definitely did.

Gilbert, of course, was completely oblivious to awkward situation that he'd put Matthew in, and so Matthew found himself, for the first time in his life, threatening to hit someone with a hockey stick if that person didn't stop suggesting that they have a threesome. Francis had laughed at the threat, but did indeed stop and even offered to give Matthew a free pastry for his troubles. And after the first bite, Matthew became a regular customer and good friend.

In his defence, they were delicious pastries! Moreover, the Canadian had had the pleasure of more than once watching Francis create them, and it was certainly magical. He produced each piece as though it were destined to land on Francois Hollande's table; and the Frenchman concentrated so much, touching each one tenderly with the strangest expression of happiness and concentration on his face. Matthew smiled at the thought of it as he continued down the pavement. Perhaps he'd stay today, he mused. After all, he hadn't had a good, long conversation with the man in weeks! A gust of breeze scratched his face, prompting him to walk faster. It wasn't as cold as it had been the past few days, but Matthew's jacket was not very thick as it would certainly get much hotter in the afternoon. It was with relief that he eyed the familiar green, pink, and white colour scheme on the corner. Another smile graced his lips. He hoped Francis wasn't busy.

He pushed open the door hurriedly, immediately feeling the bliss that came with the warmth and smell of the _patisserie_. He stayed at the door, closing his eyes as he smelled the baking bread and sweet scent of—

"_Est-ce que tu vas rester là tout le jour, ou vas-tu essayer un morceau de mon nouveaux gâteau?_" (Are you going to be there all day, or are you going to try a piece of my new cake?) Matthew grinned, turning towards the smiling Frenchman. "_Bonjour, Francis. Comment ça va_?" (Hi [Good morning], Francis. How are you?)

Francis rolled his eyes. "_Vien-ici_!" (Come here.) The Frenchmen opened the small gate, and the Canadian gratefully passed behind the counter. Francis seemed to be sizing him up. The Frenchman always commented that Matthew looked too skinny. Seemingly satisfied with Matthew's weight, Francis smiled, his light blue eyes twinkling. "_Maintenant, je suis très heureux. Je ne t'ai pas vu depuis... trois semaines? Est-ce que tu et Gilbert me detestez?_" (Right now, I am happy. I haven't seen you in... three weeks. Do you and Gilbert hate me?)

"_Peut-etre..._" Matthew joked as Francis' eyes grew wide in melodramatic disbelief. "_Mais si tu me laisses essayer de ton gateau..._" (Maybe... but if you let me try your cake...)

Francis sighed dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. "_Mon Dieu, les choses que je dois faire, si je voudrais avoir des amis! Ça va. Alors, viens._" (My God, the things I must to do if I would like to have friends. All right. Come on, then.) Matthew laughed as he followed the Frenchman into the back of the bakery, where the magic happened. On the table, next to a few of the ovens, was a delicious-looking cake. It looked like a cheesecake, but Francis was unpredictable. It was a rather small thing, as though it had been baked for trying, not selling. The top seemed to covered in some-sort of reddish-pinkish sauce. Matthew waited for Francis to introduce the dessert to him. The Frenchman looked cake on the table with some disdain for a moment, then seemed to remember that Matthew was there as well. As though reading the Canadian's mind, he started, "It is indeed a cheesecake. Topped with raspberry sauce, and there should be a hint of mint in it. The cheesecake should also have some taste of lemon..." the Frenchman explained nervously in English, now. The baker was now wringing his hands together.

"I'm sure it's delicious, Francis," Matthew reassured him, recognizing how stressed his friend was. It seemed strange that Francis would be so nervous about the whole event. Had something happened today? This wasn't the anniversary of Jeanne's death - Matthew knew that much for sure - but he, too, began to feel a sort of nervousness. Had he missed something? Crap... what if this was for some reason a really important day for Francis, and he had been a terrible friend and forgotten?!

His rambling thoughts were interrupted when Francis pulled out a fork from his apron and nearly smacked him in the face with it. Matthew took a tiny step back and took the fork from him, a smile wavering at his lips. "Don't say that until you try it. I'm not sure about the lemon," Francis said warningly.

Matthew managed to keep a poker face on, but just. What was so important about this cake? As respectfully as he could, - Francis was pretty big on manners in the kitchen - he cut a small piece off, then put it in his mouth.

As expected from Francis was delicious. The slight hint of lemon and mint was definitely there. Normally, Matthew disliked the combination because it reminded him of cold medicine that he would drink as a child, but the mint was more of an after-taste while the lemon and raspberry flavors melded together perfectly beforehand. But Matthew knew better than to show how much he enjoyed the taste. Instead, as he chewed, he kept a small frown on his features, making sure to move his jaw slowly, and tilt his head to the side. Almost hesitantly, he went for another piece, staring at it slightly before putting it in his mouth.

"_Bien?_" (Well/Good?) Matthew did not respond, but merely went for another piece, scowling slightly.

"_Matthieu! Arrête! Tu me tues! Est-ce que le gâteau est meilleur que ton meilleur rêve ou non?!_" (Matthew! Stop! You're killing me! Is the cake better than your best dream or not?!)

Matthew sighed. He actually wasn't quite sure what the Frenchman had just spat out - the Canadian spoke French well, but even he had his limits when it came to angry Frenchman. Something about killing – hopefully he didn't mean killing Matthew—and something about 'better dream.' Regardless, he took yet another piece. Only three-fourths of the cake remained. "_...Hmm, c'est... c'est... je ne sais pas, Francis._" (Hmm, it's... it's... I don't know, Francis.) The Canadian took another piece. At any moment now, Francis would stop him. "_C'est delicieux, mais..._" (It's delicious, but...)

"_Mais?_" Francis very nearly screamed, his fingers bent each other, forward in back, anxiously.

Matthew took yet another piece. Half of the cake... enough, Matthew, he chided himself. He took one final piece, then exclaimed, "_Mais c'est le meilleur morceau de gateau que j'ai essayé dans toute ma vie!_" (But it's the best piece of cake of I've ever tried in my entire life!)

Francis grinned, ecstatic, and put an arm around Matthew's shoulders in triumph. "_Oui ! C'est vrai ! Je suis le meilleur, je –" _(Yes! It's true! I am the best, I – ) He took his arm off Matthew's shoulder. "That was on purpose, wasn't it?" the Frenchman asked testily, suddenly switching to English.

Matthew smiled sheepishly, reverting to his old self. "I... well, it really was delicious, eh? Heh. Heh, heh."

"I swear," the Frenchman said, "if you weren't so cute, I would have kicked you out and barred you from ever setting foot inside my home ever again." He winked suggestively, pulling a few strands of shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. "We're not going to have that threesome any time soon, Francis."

The Frenchman laughed, twirling a bit of his hair between his fingers. His bright blue eyes shone with mischief. "We'll see about that," he murmured. Then, more loudly, "After all, you never know what other ingredients I put into my goods." He looked pointedly at the cheesecake, then back at Matthew. And winked again.

The Canadian's purple eyes widened slightly. "You wouldn't," Matthew protested, stepping away from the cheesecake as though it was poisoned. "_C'est une blague! N'est-ce pas?"_ (I's a joke! Right?) Had it all been a show? Had Francis just pretended to be that nervous about the cake?

Francis merely looked at him, shrugging slightly. "I believe Alice claimed that it would take... oh," the Frenchman looked up at the clock on the wall. "By the time the long hand reaches the five." Matthew's eyes narrowed, suspicious. Francis moved a shoulder. The Frenchman smiled—then cracked up. "_Oui, oui_. I am indeed just playing with you. You can have the rest of it, if you'd like," Francis gestured towards the cake. Matthew looked at it hungrily, despite having eaten quite a large breakfast. With one last warning look at Francis, he went for another piece of the truly delicious cake.

"So, what's with this generosity, eh?" Matthew asked. Francis was once again silent, smile replaced with a pensive, serious look. Matthew felt doubt creeping upon him once again. What had he missed? A knee-jerk reaction, his finger rubbed the side of his mouth. When he pulled it away, the finger was stained with the raspberry sauce. Damn' Francis for not giving him a napkin. But the Frenchman noticed the Canadian's struggle and smirked. He walked away towards a drawer, pulled out a napkin, and handed it to him. "_Merci_," Matthew answered quietly, rubbing it against the edges of his mouth as he waited for Francis' answer. Strange... Francis was normally much more flirtatious; he did everything with a flourish and sort of grace and charm that Matthew near envied. What was wrong...

But just as the Canadian was about to inquire, the Frenchman spoke. "Haven't you heard the news?" Francis asked quietly, looking away from the Canadian and at a framed picture on the counter that held all of Francis' supplies. Matthew followed his gaze to the picture, a picture of pretty, young woman with short blond hair and fiery dark blue eyes. Matthew's eyes, even with glasses, were not good enough to see it in detail, but he knew exactly what the picture showed and what it meant.

"Of?"

Francis looked at him with a small, slightly sad smile. "France has legalised same-sex marriage."

* * *

**A/N: **Alice is fem!England/UK. If my French is off, please do not hesitate to correct me. :)


End file.
